It started with a note, or rather, with behavior that others on the fourth floor found frustrating. It was a simple idea, really; use the washroom located on your own floor. Only, there was one toilet for women on each floor. When it was in use, you waited patiently or walked down a floor to use the one there. But for some, it was less about a free washroom and more about convenience. It was more convenient to use the washroom on your floor. It was more convenient to not have to walk down 2 flights of stairs, or God forbid, use the elevator, to find an unoccupied washroom. It was their right to use the washroom on the fourth floor and to not share it with everyone. And so they posted a note, in cursive print, showing that they took time and care when drafting their washroom etiquette rules.
It hung unmolested on the washroom wall for a few hours, before another note found it’s place beside it. It was the rebuttal, the rebuke, the gentle “we use your washroom because ours is full and/or because we’re better people” note. It pointed out their selflessness in letting others, potentially disabled women, use the washroom on their floor, while they hike up the 20 stairs to the next floor. It was typed in bare, flat font, with an emoticon to lessen the sting of superiority. It was taped to the original note to ensure being seen by one and all.
What had started as a fight to the right to use the washroom on the fourth floor turned into a war of who was better – those that chose to stick to the fourth floor washroom or those who gave up their washroom privileges for others. It could have escalated or ended there. But then a third note was placed. This one was truly a gentle reminder, a gentle nudge to be nicer to one another. It was originally taped over both notes, as an overriding statement over the washroom war. But then it was the only note left standing. A tribute to its ability to quash petty squabbles, territoriality, and general frustration. The war of taped notes ended in green vibrant color and the simple words from the Dalai Lama.
What was missing in the (polite) war of words, however, was the fact that the fourth floor washroom was small and cramped compared to the other floors. The door was heavy and hard to open, the floor often was littered by half wet paper towels and scraps of unused toilet paper. It wasn’t the superior washroom in the building at all, but the fourth floor ladies still claimed it as their own, their throne, their territory.
And lost.